


Rock the Boat

by SandrC



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 05: A Crown of Candy, Family Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25538989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC
Summary: On theLa Fondue, the Rocks family gets to know their newest travel companion.Amethar looks for similarities. Jet looks to the past. Ruby looks for answers.(For the Dimension 20 2020 Fic Exchange.)
Relationships: The Rocks Family
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: Dimension 20 Fic Exchange 2020





	Rock the Boat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jadeandquartz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeandquartz/gifts).



> My computer hates me! It erased all my work! I had to do this twice! It fucking sucked!
> 
> Anyway! Welcome to my first ever fic exchange. I picked this one coz Good Ol Cousin War Crimes is a good dude whom I get on a weirdly personal level. Sad thing is I had a terribly hard time writing Jet, specifically Jet _here_ in this space at this point in time. She's just out of the death of Lapin. She's just at Jet the Bastard. She just saved Primsy. What is Jet like? Well I had to figure it out and boy howdy that was 99% of my slow slog with this. But I got it done and I got it done with love.
> 
> And then Ruby was also a bit of a difficult write.
> 
> Apparently the only one I had down for this interaction was Amethar haha. Oops? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I hope you like this? I'm proud of me regardless.

He isn't certain how to...quantify this strange new addition to their group of refugees—and _oh_ , but _that's_ a loaded concept, them being refugees—but he's...he's _something_. It's not just that he's a Rocks—and that's something in and of itself—but also that he is a remnant of _something else_ Lazuli touched. One more person—aside from Theo and himself—who knew and remembered his sisters in their entirety. It’s...a _lot_. Especially now.

As everyone settles down, Amethar finds his eye drawn back to Cumulous, searching for some visual link between him and the rest of his family. Is the way he holds his hands while he sits the same as Citrina when she prayed? Is the angular way his jaw catches the light a reflection of Rococoa’s stern visage? Is the way he shrinks to take up as little space as possible something Sapphria used to do as a way to play the Court? Is his piercing pink gaze that of Lazuli, observing them to understand and dissect?

He is so _foreign_ and so _similar_ that it hurts. Still, staring will do neither of them any good, so while the younger people aboard the _La Fondue_ rest and Theo stands watch over them, he finds a place on deck to talk to Cumulous himself. Make his own opinion of this man who claims to be his cousin.

“Your Highness,” Cumulous’s voice is soft, metered. He turns from where he had been looking—off to the horizon, tracing stars with eyes that are as hungry as the being he claims to serve—and inclines his head slightly. Everything he does seems to be slight and controlled.

“Jus’ Amethar is fine. No need for that formality bullshit.” He watches Cumulous’ face for any sort of reaction. There isn’t any. A reserved and taciturn fellow it seems.

“ _Amethar_ , then,” he acquiesces They stew in silence for a bit while Amethar organizes his thoughts.

He isn’t the most clever man, but you learn who is your friend on the battlefield. That’s a truth he _knows_. And having watched Cumulous fight—throwing people into the ocean with cold precision, snapping a man’s neck without remorse—there are two answers to this question. Either Cumulous is his friend, or he is a dangerous enemy, and Amethar would rather hope for the former.

Instead of pressing the line of thought he’s been chasing this whole time—what part of Lazuli did he get to see that Amethar himself wasn’t privy to? what part of Lazui did he remember that Amethar has long since forgotten?—he asks something else. “Your, _uh_ , monastery. What’s _that_ like?”

“The Spinning Star?” Cumulous’ thick brow furrows, lips pursing—there is Jet and Ruby there in the pout of his mouth—but it's not anger. _No_ , he thinks, _softly_ like grass growing, like he does _everything_ , and answers in the same way. “It's dying. The monks there, like everything else, are ageing and soon there will be no one left to uphold our ways. I am, by far, the most senior monk there. And now I’m _here_. Doing what must be done.”

“ _Mmm_ ,” is all Amethar can say to that. What Must Be Done is a heavy burden to bear. He opens his mouth, finds the words won’t come, and closes it again.

Thankfully, Cumulous takes the burden of speaking from him. “You and your... _group_. You lost someone recently?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” he nods, shrugging his shoulders slightly, “Lapin. The Primogen.”

“Was he a good man?”

“I _think_ so, yeah. He...died so we could escape.” His feelings on Lapin are... _complicated_. Too complicated for a late-night chat. Even one that’s _already_ kinda heavy.

“ _Hm_.” Cumulous looks back out on the horizon. “I think that...in addition to doing his due diligence by allowing the rest of you to escape relatively unharmed, Lapin was _formative_. For you _and_ the children. Even Sir Theo.”

“ _Howso_?” Amethar eyes Cumulous, face pinched in confusion.

“Even though his death is a tragedy, as _all_ deaths are, you have come away stronger for it. I’m sure that your movements are more calculated, that Sir Theo takes greater strides to protect, that the princesses are more careful, that Liam is more pointed. Strike first and strike fast instead of retaliating in response to an attack already made. You’ve taken something that has caused you pain and learned from it. _No more deaths like his_. It is, in some way, the _purpose_ of death. Beneath the senseless loss of those that remain and to nourish those that will come, death is to let others learn.” His strange, hollow gaze catches Amethar’s and he smiles.

 _There_ , in the crook of his mouth—to the left, upwards ever-so-slightly—is a dimple that Amethar and his sisters and his daughters all have. Family. Strange, broken, wide-spread family.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he says, softly, matching Cumulous’s airy intonation, “I think it did.” He claps him on the back with one hand, sharp enough to send him jolting forward a bit. “Let’s hit the sack. Long day.”

“Longer weeks ahead,” he says, in agreement as they both descend. Family in arms and family in blood.

* * *

Cumulous watches them _all the time._ Quite frankly, it's a _little_ unsettling. While Jet found immediate comfort in his presence in combat, _afterwards_ he's...it's a different matter _entirely_. He has this strange sallow face and a strange vacant look and it takes everything in Jet to fight the childish fear that bubbles in her chest whenever she feels his gaze on her back.

(She doesn't think about paintings of the Hungry One and its creeping fingers and sharp teeth and the sweet Candian children it eats with vicious glee. Or how Cumulous feels like those paintings looked.)

When Ruby is in the rigging helping Liam untie a stubborn knot, Jet slips off to have a chat with their new cousin, beckoning the man to follow her to the aft. He does, his long strides slow so he doesn't outpace her, bent at a strange angle so he can look her in the eyes without craning his head down too far. She finally stops and sits on the railing so she can look him in the eyes without him having to stoop.

" _So_ ," she says, clipped, sharpened.

" _So?_ " He asks. His pale eyes meet hers and his gaze is like a knife. She feels like he sees inside her. She shivers a little.

" _Cousin_ , right? You got to meet our aunts then?" Thoughts are hard but if there's _one_ thing Lapin taught her, it's that words are _important_. Meaning is _important_. People can be swayed. And while she may not be legal heir in the eyes of the Bulb— _fuck_ the damn clergy that would bother to hurt her and her family, they don't _deserve_ their happiness and comfort while they have to run for their lives—she _was_ Crown Princess once. She had once _accepted_ the burden of ruling. She's practiced being in Court. She remembers how to do it.

If he feels her probing tendrils, he doesn't show it on his face, just nodding once. "Yes. There is a lot of them in both you and Ruby. They would have loved you."

" _I'm sure._ " Jet doesn't _mean_ to sound bitter but...she _is_. So much of her life is dictated by the past. The wars that ended in ways that people didn't like. The people who were in power that want to keep their control. The prophecies of their Aunt Lazuli haunt everyone they meet. The Sugar Plum Fairy and her magic seeps through every inch of their journey. It feels unfair that things she _cannot_ control, long past and far beyond her reach, control _her_.

“They would have loved you, _not_ because you are related to them, but because you are _you_. And in being you, you are _to some degree_ like them.” Cumulous continues. His tone does not change, his eyes searching for _something_ in her face. Or some _one_. It’s... _hard_. “ _I_ think,” he says, slow, _careful_ —and everything he does outside of combat is gentle, a strange contrast to the man who, without a second thought, snapped the neck of someone who surrendered—his voice low and quiet “you carry Rococoa’s blade and that is...there is a _burden_ there, _true_ , but she would have loved to know you. You are, after all, her brother’s daughter. You carry _his_ ideals _and_ your own as well, a piece of him that you have shaped into something new but, the degree to which you are so like her is _staggering_. Blinding to look at. She would have been ecstatic to see who you were and what you made of yourself."

“Kind words.” Silence slips between them and she doesnt _mean_ for it to be resentful but...there is resentment there. _So much of her_ has become soured resentment. It’s infuriating and exhausting. She _hates_ it. She just wants to be home, for this war to be over, for peace to be back again. She feels like a child and it clutches guilt to her chest. “You...fight good. Like... _really_ good. Kicked people into the ocean. It’s...I’m trying to learn how to do that.”

“Maneuverability is key. I am...good at that.”

“ _You_...I wanted to be head of the Guard for _so long_ and _then_ I was good being Crown Princess, and _now_ it’s like...I’m good at fighting and...I _just_ …” She has trouble finding the words, which makes her angry, which makes her have trouble with words, and so on and so forth.

"You are a masterful fighter. I saw how you sunk that cheese man. A swift and decisive move." Cumulous tilts his head like a bird, sideways, strange. _Despite_ this, what he's saying is comforting somehow. "I think you will find success _wherever_ your path takes you; crown or court or combat. You and your sister _both_ are accomplished and bullheaded, which serves you well in your endeavors."

"Bullheaded?" Jet huffs, smiling. " _Rude_."

" _Is_ it?" Again, he tilts his head and, while there is a way to which he is creepy and odd, her lingering fear of him is lessened.

" _A bit_."

" _Hm_. I'll try and work on that." And he sounds sincere.

They sit for a bit longer, the silence of their contemplation broken by the sound of the ocean against the sides of their commandeered vessel. Jet thinks about Ruby with an arrow in her throat, a soft pink scar left in the red flesh of her neck. She thinks about Liam, sobbing tears that freeze to his cheeks as he wails for his lost friend. She thinks about Lapin, a crooked sneer, a sharp word, a spray of chocolate on something she would have once considered precious and holy.

She thinks about how the odd angles and dark hues of the Hungry One must be beautiful to some. Moreso than the soft curves and washed out tones of the Bulb.

"You think you could teach me?" She finally asks. He trains his gaze on her and, for the first time in many days, she doesn't feel observed. She feels _seen_. "How to maneuver people like that. How to get around a battlefield like that. Would you mind?"

"Not at all." There is no pause between her asking and him answering. No hesitation. She's almost shocked by how decisive he is. "I do meditation while the night and morning rounds swap. I could teach you after that."

" _Sunrise?_ " The disgust creeps into her voice but it doesn't seem to bother Cumulous, who chuckles.

"Midday is too hot for practice, better for work. Night is for sleeping. Morning is just dark enough with enough color to be good for all types of learning."

Jet rolls the idea around in her head before nodding and holding her hand out. She can't help kick her legs back and forth as she waits for him to take her offer up. She can feel the past being left behind in the waves. She won't be like Rococa, who died in battle. She won't sacrifice herself because she told her pops she wouldn't. She would grow, become more, and protect her family.

Be more like Theo. A shield for her loved ones and her ideals.

" _Deal_. And in return, I'll tell you _all_ about the best places in the castle for hiding where no one can find you."

"It's a deal then." He shakes her hand and, in spite of his cotton candy flesh—cracked by movement and hardened by work—it is a firm and practiced grip. He gives her a soft smile and she sees an echo of her father there. The past, but not something she hates.

Fuckery leaves people with strange bedfellows, or something of that like.

She never paid attention in history anyway.

* * *

Ruby has found quiet time in the crow's nest. Jet likes her feet on the deck, Liam spends a lot of time with Primsy or Annabelle, helping the former heal and the latter with her duties as captain. There really isn't anything else to do on sea anyways, save practice her magic, practice shooting, or work. So she takes to the rigging pretending it's circus ropes and swallows back fear that pierces her throat when the boat pitches and she loses her grip for a second.

It's a space that's all hers. Open, free, with the briny buttermilk air in her lungs, she doesn't have to be anything. Just Ruby. Tired. Bastard. _Done_ with being told how to live her life. Ready for the war to end. Nostalgic.

Ruby.

And then, one day, it isn't.

Cumulous sits stock-still, cross-legged, eyes closed, and she feels a pang of irritation glance through her. Then she swallows it for decorum chased by shame. Ruby clambers into the crow's nest and lays down, kicking her legs over the railing of the basket. Upside-down, she observes him. Tries to understand him. Slot him into her new normal.

(She doesn't _want_ it to be normal. Not _forever_. Just a temporary state. And then home, mom, an end to the struggle, and her old normalcy. But that's a pipe-dream. The scar on her throat will never disappear, the callouses on her hands will never fade, the magic in her veins will never become less potent, and Lapin will never be less _dead_. So she hopes, like a child. Wishes, because praying is futile and she knows _that_ much.)

"What was she _really_ like? Lazuli, that is." She asks. Her voice is a clarion call in the early morning and he cracks one pink eye open to look at her.

"Why do you ask?" His question—and isn't that _just like_ someone who knew Lazuli, to answer a question with a question—is plain. Uncomplicated.

"Everyone _always_ talks about her. Figure you'd be the least likely to sugarcoat it." She makes a wringing motion with her hands, adding in a crunching noise with her mouth. He blinks, nonplussed.

"What drew you to _that_ conclusion?"

Ruby bites back on vitriol. "Pops loves her too much. Loved? _I don't know._ He thinks about her too much like an idol. Theo is…," she waves her hand dismissively, "he was her pupil? And he's a _bit_ of a pushover. Wouldn't say a single thing badly about her if you paid him. Mom...mom doesn't talk much about Aunt Lazuli. But _you_ don't know me. You don't _care_ what I think. You'd be _honest_."

" _Hm_." He doesn't answer for a long time. Long enough that she starts to feel the rise of frustration building again. Then he sighs. "She was intelligent. I feel as if that's obvious."

" _Yeah._ "

"She liked to be prepared. Her biggest fear, though she wouldn't share it with us out loud, was being caught unawares. She liked to sing when she thought she was alone. She loved making personal magic items for people. She forgot to eat sometimes." He continues, without pause. "She knew seven languages lost to time. She _forgot_ what day it was quite frequently. She made her own spells. She _didn't_ make her own food. She didn't have a taste tester. Her favorite swear word was _shit_. One time, she found a way to enchant the snow so it pelted the head of the order in the back of his head for a week. When he found out, he knocked her into a snowdrift."

"That's...," Ruby searches for the right word for this situation and comes up short, "a _lot_."

" _People_ are a lot." He shrugs, bony shoulders touching his ears. "You asked what she was like but didn't provide specifics. You wanted things that wouldn't have been told to you so I picked minutiae. People often only remember the big picture. _Especially_ loved ones or those who care."

She steeps in this for a moment. Simple things? Small things like...the way Liam's nose wrinkles when he laughs. Jet chewing her thumbnail when she thinks really hard, her free hand usually caught in her braid. Lapin drumming when people talked, little patterns on his legs. Theo turning to look at people when they talked to him, making sure to make eye contact.

Not _just_ the big picture.

" _People say_ ," she starts. Then she stops, doubles back, and tries again. "Oftentimes, people compare me to Aunt Lazuli. It's always the magic. _Every time_. But I don't even _know_ her. How...how can I be like her? How can I _like_ her? _Am I?_ Like her, that is?"

It feels silly to say out loud but...pressure abates. She breathes in. Out. Cumulous is looking at her, head tilted so she appears right-side-up. His eyes scan her face, mouth pursed in thought.

"People attach a lot of meaning to a lot of things. You are related to her and, by that virtue, _are_ like her. You are not a full wizard and, by that virtue _are not_. To compare you and Lazuli is like comparing a dagger and a bow. Both can be used at range, but both have wildly differing functions." He says things like they're the truth. It feels good, to have someone be so frank. So open.

Ruby thinks that they all might be tired of people coating the ugly truth in palatable lies. Or maybe, again, it's just her and that's fine.

"You are magic. Your magic is clever and fast, like _you_. Her magic was precise and sharp, like _her_. You wield her bow. You've felt her magic in it. It is markedly different from your own, isn't it?"

She thinks about Sour Scratch. The tang and bite of its energy. The way it lingers. How that is so different from the tacky sweetness of Yak and her mage hand. She nods.

"You can be _like_ her because people see echoes of the dead wherever they look. Ghosts linger, even if in the head." Cumulous taps a finger to his forehead, once. "You can be _unlike_ her because you have no reference for what she is save what others have told you. You are _Ruby_. You are _not_ Lazuli."

It's a relief to hear. _It does not relieve her._

Life is _full_ of contradictions.

"Would...I know you saw Sour Scratch before but...my necklace is _also_ magic. Half of a pair. Would you like to see it?" She reaches up to unclasp the locket from her neck. Cumulous' eyes well up.

"I would like that very much." He manages to say around his snotty tears.

"It's the _least_ I can do," she passes it to him and he cradles it like it's a precious thing. "For answering my questions."

"Asking questions teaches us about the world," he says, sniffling. "I will _always_ be glad to answer them."

"Thank you, _regardless_. I'm sure it hasn't been easy for you. We haven't been the most welcoming."

He doesn't seem bothered. "On the contrary," he swipes his arm across his eyes and sniffles, "all of you have been very accommodating, considering the circumstances. I would expect nothing less."

" _Nonetheless_ ," she presses. He bows from the back and forth, still observing the Locket of the Sweetest Heart glimmer in the light of the bulb.

"Thank _you_ as well. It's filled with care and love for its paired half." He hands it back to her with a soft smile. It makes him look like the clouds, fluffy and pale, painted by the light in the lightest of hues. "Just like its bearer."

She doesn't say anything after that, though she finds his company immensely tolerable. They just enjoy the solitude together until it's time for someone to actually use the crow's nest. Then they vacate and attend to other things.

And it only becomes a habit when it happens more than twice.


End file.
